


Aquila et Perseus

by Thistlesweet



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Deaf Clint Barton, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Swearing, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlesweet/pseuds/Thistlesweet
Summary: Bucky and Clint both start at a fancy new school senior year. Both of them feel out of place.I just had a lot of fun writing this lmao. Rated M for swearing, just in case.





	1. Bucky

Bucky didn’t resent being at Ditko Prep, but he didn’t appreciate it like Steve did. Maybe it was the difference in the circumstances of their acceptance. 

Steve had gotten a scholarship based on grades, and merit, and a killer essay on how he didn’t let asthma stop him from joining the track team, and then when he got sent to the hospital three times and the coach suggested he quit he accepted his limitations and focused on academics and leadership and being class president in eighth, ninth and tenth grade. When Bucky had read it (which Steve allowed him to do on the condition that Bucky also apply) he’d found it hard to believe Steve even knew the word limitation, let alone how to use it in a sentence. What Steve had left out of the essay was the fact that he’d tried to sneak into track meets and he’d finally had to be given detention, off the record, only on track meet days. 

Bucky hadn’t gotten that scholarship. What he did get, later on, was a grant from Stark Industries. He’d try out a bunch of prosthetic shoulders and arms aimed at people aged 13 to 21, and he’d get a full ride to Ditko. Of course, he also had to get a 3.0 GPA, and check in weekly with the nurse for small stuff, and visit the lab uptown every three months for big adjustments, and potentially be part of a press release. Which Bucky did, because he wasn’t going to let Steve go to that school all by himself. Who knew what those rich assholes might make of Steve. Ditko was known for their wrestling team. And their archery team, but that probably wouldn’t be an issue. Unless they allowed the archery team to carry their bows around and shoot people willy-nilly. 

So while Steve was doubtless beaming wide-eyed at whoever was getting onstage for the junior orientation, Bucky was not as impressed in the senior room. The room was ridiculously gaudy, the spotlight way over the top. Bucky just wanted to blend in, but his uniform sleeve made it pretty clear that his left arm was prosthetic, which didn’t help with blending in at all. It also didn’t help that he was starting as a senior. It honestly felt a little weird. He’d already had several people stare at him. Bucky was glad Steve was a grade below, so he didn’t need to fake enthusiasm. He was here because a quirk of fate made him useful to Stark Industries, which he hated. But he was also here for Steve, so he’d power through. 

The orientation was basic stuff--"It's your last year in school", "be good", reputation of the institution, blah blah blah. Then a brunch for the seniors. 

Bucky couldn’t get over how much this school gave out for free. If you didn’t have a scholarship, or grant, you did have to pay for your books and uniform. But other than that, the school had free snacks all over the place, coffee and bagels in the mornings, a cafeteria that looked like a mini food court, laptops you could check out and take home, goodie bags every so often with skincare products--the only school Bucky had ever been to where no one actually needed free stuff, and it was available out the wazoo. 

Obviously, Bucky didn’t know anyone at the senior brunch. He still didn’t have very good control of the new prosthetic--He’d been able to touch each of his fingers to his thumb, for the first time in years, but other than that he had no real sense of how to interact with it. He kept his elbow close to his body, for good measure. Sure, maybe he looked awkward putting tapenade on his crackers with one hand, but he didn’t care what this bunch thought of him anyway. Fucking tapenade, at a high school brunch. 

His internal battle between his love of tapenade vs his absolute bewilderment at the school was disrupted by what mght have been the perkiest voice he'd ever heard.

“Hi! Are you James Barnes?” 

Bucky turned around. The girl speaking looked like she had a starbucks acai refresher where blood would normally be. Sweet, caffeinated, just trying to help. “I’m Doreen. You might be worried about being a new senior, but there are lots of new seniors at Ditko Prep. A lot of people’s parents move around a lot, or they want to take advantage of our exclusive extra-credit senior year track!” 

Bucky had heard of that. For people who started on junior- or senior-year scholarships, there was the option to take extra freshman and sophomore classes the summer before or after school. It was required, if they wanted to get into the advanced placement track, which anyone who got a scholarship was likely to do. Steve had spent the summer taking those classes, which kept him out of trouble, which was good. But when he wasn’t protecting Steve, Bucky didn’t quite know who to be. Bucky, on a grant, hadn't had that option. 

“You are James, right?” Doreen prompted, when Bucky didn’t say anything. 

“I go by Bucky,” said Bucky. He felt a little stupid, but it was far too early in the morning to keep up with the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Doreen. 

“Ok, cool, I’ll make a note for the school roster,” said Doreen. “You’ll probably tell all your teachers today during roll call.” 

“Sure,” said Bucky. Ridiculous as tapenade was as an option at a high school brunch, he wanted more of it. He didn’t want to get it one-handed, though, not if he was in the middle of a conversation. He didn’t care about what these rich kids thought of him as a group, but it was a lot harder to not care about individuals watching him. And Doreen was certainly an individual. And she seemed like the type of person to offer to help him put the tapenade on the cracker, which would be awful. She might even feed it to him, which would be even worse. So he held off on the tapenade..

“And you know how to access the school website?” She didn’t show any signs of leaving. 

“Yes,” said Bucky. 

“You’ve found the map?” 

“Yes.” 

“Your schedule?” Doreen seemed to really want to be able to help. Bucky respected that. But he still just wanted tapenade. 

“Yes.” 

Doreen paused, probably trying to think of something else to ask. “Well, come to me or anyone on student council if you need anything!” 

“Sure,” said Bucky, and Doreen skipped away. Bucky tried to turn back to the tapenade, but before he could, a decidedly less friendly-looking guy reached for the crackers as well. 

“You’re new,” said the guy. “The fuck’s wrong with your arm?” 

Way to introduce yourself.

Bucky moved his right wrist around, pretending to be puzzled. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” He looked the guy right in the eyes. Like he was gonna start a fight in the middle of a prep school brunch. 

“Other arm,” said the asshole. “What, are you stupid?” 

This guy was starting to seem genuinely angry. If Steve were here, he’d definitely be threatening to fight the guy. Which would have been idiotic, because Steve was at least a head and a half shorter. Bucky didn't want to continue to antagonize him, but like hell he was going to back down. 

“Hey, chuckles,” said someone behind Bucky. 

He turned around. Again. Why did people keep talking to and around him? He just wanted some tapenade. 

The guy talking was a wiry brown-haired kid who was wearing the top button of his uniform unbuttoned. Bucky was pretty sure that was a dress code violation. 

“You better not be saying there’s something wrong with that arm. You’d be insulting the finest piece of Stark tech since--” The guy paused to think. “Since the robot I built as my seventh grade science fair project.” 

The angry-looking guy blinked. 

“What I’m trying to subtly hint at is for you to go away, Rumwell,” said the brown-haired kid. “Run back to wherever assholes come from.” He made a shooing motion. 

“Fuck off, Stark,” said Rumwell, but he left anyway, crackerless. The brown-haired kid turned to Bucky. 

Shit. Stark. 

“I didn’t know Howard Stark’s kid went here,” said Bucky. The kid’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second, then was plastered back on, brighter than ever.

“Tony Stark,” he said. “How is the arm?” 

Bucky sighed. “It’s cool that you care about your dad’s company, but I’m already checking in with people all the time. You don’t need to care.” 

Tony shook his head, smile still on. “I could give two shits about my dad’s company. I designed it.” 

“You designed this?” Bucky moved the arm. “Great.” 

“It works, right?” said Tony. 

“Yeah, great. Can we not talk about this?” The last thing Bucky needed was some rich kid thinking that he couldn’t fight his own battles, especially if the rich kid also felt like he was entitled to Bucky’s time just because he knew how computers work. Or maybe it wasn’t computers. Electricity. Brain waves. Wizardry. Whatever. Bucky didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Hey, Tony,” someone called. Tony shrugged, giving Bucky a quizzical look up and down. 

“Sure,” he said. “See you, Smiley.” 

Tony walked off. Bucky had been spoken to by way too many people at this brunch, and he didn’t see that stopping until he left. So he left the tapenade behind and headed out. 

In the hallway, Bucky had no idea which way to go. There was a sign on the wall, though, that said where the library was, so he followed that. People generally didn’t try to talk in libraries. 

Bucky was wrong. The library was full of underclassmen chatting and talking. And screaming. Bucky supposed that while the seniors had a brunch, the underclassmen were just let loose. He couldn’t see Steve anywhere, so he left the library, as well. 

Next to the library was another classroom. It looked empty and unused--Bucky had noticed teachers’ names on the other classroom doors, but this one looked more like a storeroom than anything else. It didn’t seemed to be locked or out-of-bounds or anything, so Bucky went inside. He let the door swing shut with a loud, deep thud. It echoed a little, even. He made a mental note to be careful with the doors at Ditko Prep. 

“Shit!” 

Bucky hadn’t noticed the kid before because his head was on a desk. He was blonde and his uniform looked like it had been stored balled up in a backpack or something. He wiped his eyes, clearly just waking up. Bucky had disturbed this guy's nap, whoever he was. “Sorry. Who’re you?” 

“Bucky,” Bucky mumbled. 

“Mucky? Sorry, could you say that again?” The kid brushed his hair back, and Bucky noticed the bright purple hearing aids. 

“Bucky,” Bucky said again, trying to enunciate very clearly. And maybe a little too loud. 

“I’m Clint,” said the kid. “You're... Bucky? And you can talk normally. Just face me, if you can.” 

Bucky sat down at a desk nearish to Clint. “Sorry,” he said. 

“‘Sokay,” Clint said, yawning. “What grade are you in?” 

“Senior,” said Bucky. 

“So we’re both ditching the brunch,” said Clint. “Way to show off your shitty school spirit on the first day.” Clint stretched, pulling one arm over his head and then the other. 

“Says the guy who’s also ditching the brunch.” 

Clint grinned. “I can’t hear in crowds. What’s your excuse?” 

“I have shitty school spirit,” said Bucky. 

Clint’s grin widened, if that was possible. “Everyone else I’ve met has put the ‘pep’ in ‘Prep School,’” he said. “Guess you’re not all like that.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Bucky said, “I’m just starting this year.” 

“Oh, sick!” said Clint. “Me too." Bucky relaxed a little. He hadn't even known he was tense. Clint barreled on. "It’s wild, my last school barely had classrooms, and now I have one that’s so rich they give out archery scholarships.” 

Bucky had several questions, but the bell rang. The light on Clint’s phone flashed. 

“So that’s the bell,” said Clint, holding up his phone. “What’s your first class?” 

Bucky checked his schedule, which Steve had set as his lock screen background. “Science,” he said. 

“Mine’s English. See you around, Bucky.” Clint casually vaulted over the table--vaulted, like he was James Bond or something--Like it was nothing!--and left the room. Bucky, now with even more questions, followed soon after.


	2. Clint

Clint’s second class of the day was history. When he got to the classroom, the teacher wasn’t there yet. The only person in the room was a tall redheaded guy with one earbud in, sitting behind a desk off to the side. He was wearing sunglasses, which Clint figured meant he was either hung over, high, or incredibly egotistical. He was clearly not a teacher, but something about the way he was sitting made it clear he wasn’t in the class, either. 

Clint went up to him. The kid didn’t look up when Clint said “uh, hey. Do you know when the teacher’s getting here?” 

“Wilde usually doesn’t get here until class is about to start.” the kid said, taking the earbud out, “but I’m his TA.” A TA probably wouldn’t be high or hungover on the first day of school. Egotistical, then. 

Clint nodded and waited until the TA looked up. Clint couldn’t tell for sure, because he couldn’t see the TA’s eyes, but he seemed to be looking at one of Clint’s hearing aids instead of his face. Clint kind of wanted to say something about that, but figured it was best not to alienate the teacher’s assistant on the first day of school. There was always tomorrow.

“I’m deaf,” Clint said, “and if I could sit in the front, that would be great.” 

“Huh,” said the TA. “I’ll make a note on the seating chart.” 

The TA opened his computer. Clint noticed the keyboard was weird, and after a moment he realized that it was a Braille keyboard and the TA was definitely blind. Which explained everything.  
He thanked his lucky stars (which so rarely came through) that Dumb Bitch Barton had not come out to play and that he hadn’t said anything assholeish about the sunglasses or the staring at the hearing aid. He watched the TA type up the note, then run his fingers over a Braille display on the keyboard. 

"So, uh--" The TA paused, clearly waiting for a name. 

“I’m Clint,” said Clint. 

“I’m Matt,” said the TA. “So, Clint, You’re new, right?” 

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Starting as a senior.”  
"Hope Ditko Prep lives up to the hype." Matt started to shut the computer, then paused. “Is there anything else I should tell Wilde? Would it help you to borrow someone’s notes, or something?” 

“Maybe,” Clint said. “Depends on how much he talks while facing the board.” 

Matt laughed. “I have no idea,” he said. Clint smiled. Matt shut the computer. “Honestly, though, ask if you need anything. They’re really ready to help here. A little too ready. I was basically followed around by a butler my entire first semester.” 

Clint laughed. “That had to have been weird.” 

The five-minutes-till-the-end-of-passing-period bell rang, and Clint’s phone buzzed. He could pretty much hear the bell, but he’d set alarms, just in case. 

“You should go grab a seat up front,” Matt said. “There’s no seating chart until the second day.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” Clint said, and found a seat. 

+++++++++++

Clint ended up having a few classes with Bucky. He hadn’t expected to have someone to sit next to--Everyone on the archery team turned out to be a total ass, except one freshman, but he didn’t have any classes with her. It was good to have a friend, even if he’d only met him that morning. They had algebra 2 together, and Clint appreciated the fact he wouldn’t be the only senior in that class. They were in the same gym period, and even though Clint spent the entire time in the archery room training for the Olympic qualifying rounds, the room had windows (unbreakable, Clint hoped) and he could still see Bucky across the gym. In the gym uniform, Clint could see clearly what he’d suspected--Bucky’s left arm was metal. Which was cool. And they had drama together, at the end of the day. 

Clint had been utterly surprised to see Bucky in drama. He himself had signed up for the class because he had experience onstage; not in theatre, maybe, but he figured he could get by in an entry-level class with the skills he already had. Within two minutes, it was clear Bucky hadn’t wanted to be in that class. Clint didn’t deduce this with his brilliant knack for understanding the human psyche, either. 

“I’m going to hate this class,” Bucky said, sitting next to Clint in the audience. The class was in the theatre, and they just sat wherever they wanted. “I wanted to take a different elective, but everything was already taken.” 

The good thing about drama class was that there wasn’t a lot of actual teaching. For most of the class period, the teacher set everyone free in pairs, to find a scene to work on for the first unit. 

“If you don’t want to work with me, I get it,” Bucky said. “I mean, if you take this class seriously, or anything.” 

“It’s a class,” said Clint. “I mean, you’re not planning on failing it? It’s pretty hard to fail drama, I think, even if you try.” 

“So you don’t want to be an actor or anything?” said Bucky. “I’m just saying, because I’m not a theatre kid or anything.” 

“I’m not a theatre kid,” said Clint. “I mean, I know all the words to 'Seasons of Love,' but who doesn't?" 

Bucky didn't crack a smile, but he nodded.

When class got out, they'd decided that since they both took the train they might as well ride together. Clint finally had Bucky at least smiling at a joke when Bucky turned to look at someone over Clint’s shoulder. Clint looked around. It was a short blond guy who he hadn’t heard approach. 

“Hey, Bucky,” said the guy, wheezing a little, “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare inhaler, would you?” 

Bucky’s face changed, to something a little more tense. He swung his backpack around with his right hand--It would have been easier with his left, Clint noticed, and he was pretty sure the other guy did too. Clint restrained himself from offering to help. He figured Bucky would really not appreciate that. 

“It’s the first day of school,” Bucky said, handing the blonde guy the inhaler. Like that meant something. 

Clint wanted to make Bucky smile again. “Damn,” he said, nodding at the inhaler, “I didn’t know you were a drug dealer.” 

He grinned, until Bucky shot him a look. Guess it was funnier in his head. Guess his witty ticket-selling banter wouldn’t work as well in high school. 

“Kidding,” he said, and then because the blonde guy looked like he’d finished using the inhaler, “I’m Clint.” 

“Steve,” the guy said, handing the inhaler back to Bucky. Bucky turned to tuck the inhaler back in his bag. 

“Clint takes the train,” Clint was pretty sure Bucky said. He could only see the side of his mouth. Then he turned all the way around, and Clint’s hearing wasn’t good enough to pick up everything without lips to follow along, but he was pretty sure Bucky was just telling Steve that Clint was riding the train with them. 

Steve lit up. “Cool,” he said. 

A bunch of people waved to Steve while they walked to the train station. For a guy who seemed to be as new as Bucky and Clint, Steve sure had made a bunch of friends. There was even one more guy who joined their group, who Steve introduced as Sam, and Bucky introduced as Sam again because Clint hadn’t heard the first time. The rest of the way to the train station, Steve talked to Sam about some psychology concept, or something. Clint heard maybe every third word clearly. Bucky didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. 

They got to the train platform right as a train was going by on the opposite track, which Clint did not love. It was the kind of noise that really messed with his hearing aids. He grimaced. 

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Clint flashed him a patented Barton smile. “All good here,” he said, even though his ears were ringing. And Steve was even waving to people across the train tracks, on the opposite platform. He caught Bucky’s eye. Had Steve just befriended the entire school in one day? 

When their train pulled up, it was even louder. Clint figured he’d have to turn his hearing aids off next time. When he recovered enough to tune back into the conversation, there were even more people. Clint recognized Matt, and he was about ninety per cent certain the other two introduced themselves as Foggy and Peter, but it was practically while they were getting on the train. Peter was probably pretty on the mark, but he had to be wrong about Foggy. Maybe it was Johnny, or something. No, that was definitely an F. 

Clint ended up across from Bucky. He had a window seat, which was nice, because it looked like a definite possibility that the conversation would get way too fast to follow far too quickly, and he could look out the window to keep busy. As the train started up, Clint realized it would be even harder to follow conversation than in a non-train environment. The train noise really interfered with his hearing aids. Yikes. 

Already, he’d missed some conversation. There was no angle where he could see Matt’s lips, and he didn’t want to make it weird by asking him to repeat it. It looked like whatever conversation was going on was mostly Matt and Foggy bantering. Learning when to ask for clarification was a delicate art; Clint had learned long ago, in an incident involving two clowns and a giraffe, that if two friends were talking to each other it was best to just let them be, even if it was technically a group conversation. 

The conductor came around to scan tickets. Clint appreciated the smartphone Ditko Prep had provided with his archery scholarship, as well as the money to commute between the school and his foster home. He still couldn’t believe that three months before he’d been shooting arrows hanging from a trapeze, and now he went to a school that required you wear a tie. 

Steve said something about classes, which Clint only caught the end of. He was about to ask for clarification until Steve said, “Okay. Anyone have Richards? I have him for comp sci, but I know he teaches a few other classes.” 

“He’s [something] teacher,” Peter said, and gestured to Clint and Bucky, and said something else, definitely a question, probably about algebra. And he was definitely talking to Clint. But boy, did that kid mumble. 

“I’m sorry, I know you’re talking to me, but I have no idea what you’re asking.” Clint leaned across Sam. “Can you say that again?” 

Clint thought Peter was going to fall off of his seat. He felt a little bad for the guy, but he wanted to know what someone was saying. 

“You’re in my algebra class, right?” 

Clint sat back and grinned. “Yeah, with Richards! He seems cool. Like, I wouldn’t want him to inspect my room or anything, but cool.” 

No one laughed at that statement, and Clint automatically looked at Bucky for backup, which was the first time since he’d left the circus that he’d actually missed his brother. Bucky looked like he had no idea what Clint was talking about, and neither did anyone else. 

“You know. Because he looks so put together and neat. So I wouldn’t want him inspecting the way I clean my room.” Clint was fairly sure that most parents inspected their kids’ rooms, but maybe not. Looking around, it still looked like no one had grasped what he meant. “Still nothing? Okay, not a universal experience.” Clint shrugged. 

“Richards’ brother in law goes to Ditko,” said Sam. “Johnny Storm. He’s a freshman this year.” He seemed to have picked up on the fact that Clint understood better if he could see the lips of whoever was talking. 

”That guy?” Peter said, and when everyone looked at him it was almost like the force of everyone’s gaze at once knocked him in inch further towards the edge of his seat. “He’s in my Spanish class. When we had to choose a Spanish name, he picked Nachos.”

Then Matt said something, and it was off to the races again. Clint still couldn’t really tell if Foggy and Matt were having some sort of private, boyfriends-only conversation, or one that was for the benefit of everyone around them. Were they even dating? Huh. Honestly hard to tell. 

Clint tuned out. Sometimes it wasn’t worth expending all his energy on trying to follow conversations.

If someone had asked him why he didn’t just tell everyone to look at him if they spoke to him, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them right away, but after a few moments he probably would have guessed that it was habit. Clint didn’t mind telling people, but usually when he was in a new group of people Barney was also there, and Barney always tried to pretend that Clint’s hearing aids managed to magically make him able to hear everything and anything, clear as day, easy as you please. So Clint had fallen into a routine: miss a few group conversations at first, and if he ran into anyone later, just correct them then. And Barney, for all his denial, always looked at Clint when he spoke. 

Then Clint looked to his left and saw Peter offering pretzels. 

“Oh boy,” he said, “pretzels!” 

While they ate the pretzels that Peter had seemed way too excited to share (had the kid never had a friend before?) Sam asked Steve about an art project, which led to Stee taking out some pictures of sandwiches with goggles on. 

“You’re an artist?” said Clint. “Hey, Bucky, in drama class wasn’t Beck talking about getting student volunteers to paint sets? How he wanted more student involvement, or something?” Clint kicked Bucky lightly in the calf, and regretted it a moment later. He was used to casually interacting with the other acrobats like that. Bucky didn’t seem to be that kind of guy. 

“Wasn’t paying attention,” Bucky said. 

Clint raised an eyebrow. He hoped it made him look amused but also empathetic and maybe a little flirtatious. “There were fifteen minutes of lecturing, tops. Even I could sit through that.” Clint turned to Steve. “Anyway, I don’t know what the fall play is, but with a theatre like that it’s definitely gonna be big. I’m sure you’ll have something to paint.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” said Steve. “I’ll check it out.” 

Steve seemed to be watching Bucky, mostly. Bucky had mentioned Steve, during the part of theatre class when they’d been doing nothing but looking for scenes online, aka doing nothing. It didn’t seem like they were dating or anything, but maybe there was a mutual pining thing going on? Not that he had a crush on Bucky, or anything. Bucky was just gorgeous and the only person Clint really felt like he knew at Ditko, so far. Classes just seemed to go by so quickly on the first day of school.

++++++++++

Clint was the first to get off the train. His foster family lived in New Rochelle, which was a new experience for Clint. The house made him nervous. The first time he’d gone in, he’d broken a vase in the entryway. The foster mom had made a comment that she probably definitely thought he couldn’t hear, about how he was an athlete and wasn’t he supposed to be coordinated? So he’d pretended not to hear it. He probably would have felt awkward in the house even if that hadn’t happened. He was nervous when he sat down, because he didn’t want to wrinkle the couch cushions, and he was nervous in case he drooled in his pillow in his sleep, and he was nervous about breaking or ruining a million other things. His instincts kept telling him to hide things, which was stupid, because he was going to be an Olympic athlete and would never have to worry about having enough of anything, and he was nervous about ruining that because when the head of Ditko Prep’s athletics department took his six-year-old-daughter to see the circus, and discovered Clint, and in the process also discovered they were unlawfully employing a minor who was also a runaway, the circus went out of business, so Clint didn’t even have that to go back to. So Clint was trying not to get emotionally involved in any of it, even though he really wanted to go to the Olympics. After all, that was a long shot, even for him. 

When he walked up to the front door, a girl he recognized from two of his classes was on the front porch next door, doing ballet barre stretches with the railing. 

“Hey,” Clint called. “Natasha, right?” 

She looked up. “Hey,” she said, “You’re the new kid. Clint?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said. 

She looked at him for a moment, foot still above her head. He felt like he was being evaluated. 

Apparently, he had been deemed worthy of future conversation. “Are you the Russ’s grandson or something?” Natasha asked. 

“Foster kid,” Clint said. “So I can do archery at Ditko.” 

Natasha stopped stretching and swung herself up to sit on the fence. “That makes more sense. I’m pretty sure they hate kids. I didn't think they had any.” 

“That’s a relief,” Clint said. “I thought it was just me.” 

Natasha didn’t look embarrassed. “Fuck. That’s probably not what you want to hear.” 

Clint jumped up to sit on his own fence. “I’m serious. I’d much rather it be kids in general than me specifically.” 

“They’re obsessed with Ditko Prep,” said Natasha. “I think Mr. Russ’s great-great-uncle was the founder, or something. So as long as you bring the school honor, you should be fine.” 

Clint laughed. “Well, I hope I’ll be able to say I tried.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to adhere to a posting schedule like a responsible writer but I have no impulse control and love writing about Clint so. Whammo.
> 
> Also I don’t have a beta reader. I’ve read it over multiple times but please forgive any mistakes. 
> 
> Ok love u bye


	4. NOTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note

Hi! 

Ok, so. I saw Endgame and (no spoilers) it made me much more into Bucky/Sam Wilson. I still love the idea of Clint in this HS AU, but I think I'm going to restart this as a Bucky/Sam Wilson fic. I'll be reposting the new one on my profile (and I'll probably definitely be writing a series of HS AU Clint shorts!)


End file.
